Walking Tall

When I was a wee little kid, I used to think that Death followed a hierarchical order loosely based on your position at the family tree. I found out how wrong that was when my cousin died. He was the second son of my Aunt Z (not her real name) and this old matriarch had ten children. Only five survived today.It must be terrible to see half your brood gone before your time.

Aunt Z is close to ninety. She is also my oldest living relative on the paternal side. Her husband gave me a small strip of opium to ease my pain when I had a childhood accident. I was only about this high at the time and I declined his offer because it didn't look tasty. It was Aunt Z's family who discovered The Strange Book floating upon the sea at the harbour where they worked. But that's a story for another time.

Aunt Z isn't exactly our favourite relative but most of us were concerned and accustomed to sharing news about her.  Our interest is purely speculative, if you catch my drift. There was a time about thirty years ago when one of us who had the occasional touch of vision, dreamt about her death. It was almost surreal but it didn't happen.

A year or two ago, her eldest son (since deceased) bumped into Cousin Al (not his real name) who was another paternal cousin of mine. Cousin Al called me.

"Have you heard? They're taking Aunt Z home from the hospital. She must be close to ninety now. Pass the word, will you?"

I did.

About an hour later, Cousin Al called again.  "Have you passed the word? You have! Quick! Retract the word. She's still alive."

And she is.

She's still walking tall today.

The moral of this story? You don't want to mess around with The Word.